


nightmare

by Naiesu



Series: two roads diverged in a yellow wood [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Dorks in Love, Dreams and Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Nightmares, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28040331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naiesu/pseuds/Naiesu
Summary: Dorian dreams.He dreams of Tevinter, of lounging about a mansion, birthright cool against his collarbone and wine heavy in his hand. The sun casts warm, bright colors through the window panes, and he stretches, sighs at the comfort that comes with familiarity.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: two roads diverged in a yellow wood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053965
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	nightmare

Dorian dreams.

He dreams of Tevinter, of lounging about a mansion, birthright cool against his collarbone and wine heavy in his hand. The sun casts warm, bright colors through the window panes, and he stretches, sighs at the comfort that comes with familiarity _. _

_ “Ma vhenan.” _

The voice is soft, a purr in his ear. It makes Dorian smile. He knows that voice, knows intimately the lips it comes from, the tongue that shapes those words. Sweet and low and pleasant. A hand slips over his shoulder, thin, lithe fingers dipping under the collar of his robes and stroking the skin of his chest. A caress.

“Amatus,” he sighs. It almost sounds like a greeting, the way they speak to each other.

Cael hums, leaning into Dorian’s back. He’s chilled, and Dorian reaches up, fingers sliding up Cael’s arm to wrap around his wrist. The streets are dark below them, flickers of thrown magic lighting up the cobblestone, blood shining maroon on the skin of the dead. He smiles, at ease, finally, finally, finally home.

“You never told me how beautiful it is,” Cael says. His voice is a sigh, just as happy as Dorian.

Dorian looks across the way, at the neighboring home, resting just as high above the commoners as his own. He sees another man, a magister he’s met before, hands tight around the chain of an olive skinned slave. The air ripples, green folding the scene into something different. The same slave in armor, skin glowing blue, hand around the man’s throat. Blood drips over the windowsill.

Cael makes a noise, quiet, a noncommittal hum. Enjoying people watching. “Your father knew many great men.”

“He did,” Dorian sighs.

Thinking about his father makes things a little more real, a little less dreamlike. He swirls the wine around in his goblet. He starts to remember, then—this is just the Fade, his mind drifting amongst other dreamers, spirits, demons. His surroundings lose their ethereal touch, and he sighs, leans back into Cael. Of course they wouldn’t be here, not together, not where Cael could easily slip out of his grasp and into another man’s hands. Lose his freedom to the whims of the power hungry.

He sighs again. Cael’s fingers stroke at his skin, fingers tracing the line of his clavicle. “Relax.”

Dorian tries. He really does. Lets himself lean the rest of his weight into Cael’s chest, fingers holding onto his wrist like he might slip through at any moment.

“I’m quite good at these things, usually,” he says after a beat of silence passes between them. A scream echoes in through the open window, then a low sound, like a drum beat on the veil. Dorian waves his hand and the window closes.

Cael’s hand keeps moving, but it’s no longer calming Dorian. It just leaves him feeling empty, useless—if he can’t even bend his own dreams to his will, what good will he be in the morning? In the light of day, when he needs to be at his best, needs to have the power to knock Corypheus down a peg or two? If he’s not even able to manipulate his dreams how can he expect himself to change Tevinter?

“Vhenan,” Cael says again, pacifying. “You’re thinking too much.”

Maybe he is. Everyone forgets they're dreaming every now and then, right? Lets themselves fall prey to their desires, their faults, lets their ego take the reins every now and again.

This is how demons get control, he thinks. It's becoming harder to steady himself, keep himself focused enough to stay conscious. He holds Cael’s wrist just a little tighter.

The seconds tick by and it doesn’t get any easier. After another moment of struggling he purses his lips, tugging Cael’s arm just a little to pull him around, this would be easier if they were both working together, right? Two mages taking control of the dream, twisting it into something nicer, better. He hears another scream from the street below, and ice shoots down his spine. “Amatus—”

“Yes?”

Dorian opens his mouth to say something else, but freezes when Cael moves around to his front, falling to his knees as graceful as Dorian’s ever seen. He’s wearing a loose set of silken pants that hang low on his hips and nothing else, hair short enough that it only just covers the top of his brow, skin pale and unmarked. He holds himself demurely, hands folded on his knees.

There’s a golden collar resting around his neck, and the chain sits in Dorian’s palm.

He hisses, as though it’s burning him, and opens his hand to drop it. It sticks to his skin, sliding up and around his arm and going taut, taut, taut. Holding onto him.

“Master,” Cael says, hands coming up to rest on Dorian’s knees. He splays his fingers, dipping underneath Dorian’s robes and pushing higher and higher.

Dorian makes a sound, wants to tell him to stop,  _ please, please, please stop, this isn’t right,  _ but the dream has taken over and the words don’t come. His hands move, no longer under his own control, pulling the chain and forcing Cael closer. Cael smiles.

“You’re home.”

Dorian wakes up with a start. His heart is thumping against his ribcage, stomach turning. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Sitting up makes the feeling worse.

Embers crackle in the dying fire, flickering red and filling the room with a dim glow. Dorian rubs his eyes, huffing, as though that will make the feeling less palpable, will force the panic from his bones. In the quiet he can hear the mountain wind whistling against the glass doors.

“Ma vhenan?”

Cael’s voice is rough with sleep, and the sudden break in the silence startles Dorian.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he says, and it comes out just a little weary.

Cael shifts, and his head pops out of the top of the blanket. He blinks blearily, pushing himself up onto his elbow and reaching out to Dorian, fingers trailing up his arm. It feels startlingly similar to the events of his dream, and for a moment he isn’t here in the waking world—he’s back in his home in Qarinus, lounging on that chaise and looking down at Cael, watching hands slip under his robe.

Dorian holds his breath, and Cael furrows his eyebrows. “So are you.”

“I,” Dorian trails off, looking back to the door to the balcony.

He knows what he was about to do, what he was about to say. It seems Cael knows too, and it’s clear on his face, in the slight purse of his lips. Dorian stares at him, at the slope of his nose, his eyes shining a pale seafoam in the moonlight. The line of his brow shifts, worried, and Dorian feels a tug in his heart.  _ Why do you care about me? _

He was going to lie, and now he can’t bring himself to dodge the truth at all.

“I had a nightmare,” he says, and it sounds silly to say. Their everyday lives are more stressful, much more terrifying, and here he is complaining about something as trivial as a bad dream. Still, he can’t shake the feeling from his skin, slimy and wrong, disgusted with his mind for going where it did.

Cael makes a noise of understanding and picks his way through the sheets to Dorian, climbing close and pulling Dorian back down to lay with him. He doesn’t protest, falling into Cael’s embrace and resting his head on his chest, arms wrapping around his body. One of Cael’s hands slips into the back of Dorian’s shirt, warm fingers pressing into the knots of his spine. “What was it about?”

Dorian thinks maybe he’ll be up all night because of the dream, but now, relaxing against Cael, he finds sleep might be easier than he had first thought. Cael’s heartbeat is steady against his ear, and he closes his eyes. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Dorian dreams.

He dreams of the Skyhold library, feet kicked up on his ottoman and book heavy in his hand. Sunlight cuts through the chill, raining down on him through the window at his side.

Cael comes up beside him, laying a gentle hand between his shoulder blades and pressing a warm drink into his palm.

He’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> [naiesu_s](https://twitter.com/naiesu_s)


End file.
